


Lovely Hair

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Trans Ferdinand von Aegir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An innocuous comment reminds Ferdinand of a painful topic.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 7
Kudos: 84





	Lovely Hair

“I love your new hair! It’s so much longer than it was the last time I saw you. It makes you look so pretty!”

Dorothea held a lock of Ferdinand’s hair between her thumb and forefinger. 

“It almost looks like mine...did you grow it out on purpose?” She giggled. “Maybe I can take you out shopping for some dresses, too!” 

His hair. His beautiful, long, flowing, wavy hair, which grew mostly due to negligence and stress over the past five years, which seemed to be effortlessly maintained despite him only washing and brushing. His hair which was just like hers. (Not to mention the irony in this statement, as he had recently begun fretting over his thinning scalp. But that was another issue entirely.)

There was nothing wrong with Dorothea or her hair, of course. Her hair was lovely and it suited her just fine. He knew she meant well. Who was he to let a joke like this get to him so easily? He knew she was joking...was she?

“I am...flattered, but I am afraid that is not the case.” He forced a smile, attempting to convince himself that he actually _ was _ flattered. “I hadn’t paid attention to it. I had other priorities.”

“So you just let it grow out for five years. I don’t believe that for a second.” She giggled. “It is nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s pretty.”

_ Pretty. _

He closed his eyes for a moment, catching himself holding his breath for too long, eventually releasing it. 

He was not usually the type to let something that upset him go so easily. But to cut the conversation short and make it all about him and his feelings would be obnoxious at best and could tarnish his reputation among his peers at worst. Besides, it was not something he particularly delighted in speaking about - not without the right context, anyways.

The conversation had been going so smoothly up until this point, too. But he supposed he was to blame for that. 

His head was spinning. He needed to think for a bit.

“...Dorothea,” he began at the end of a topic, “as much as I would love to stay and talk, I have to admit I am not feeling well. I think I need to go lay down.”

“Is everything alright? ”

“Yes. No need to worry.” He stood up from his chair and bowed his head. “I apologize for the abrupt ending to our conversation. Hopefully we can continue it at dinner?”

“Yes...hopefully…” Her lowered brows and frown concerned him. She was an intuitive person. Could she see past his lie? If she could, he would explain himself at dinner, and he hoped she would forgive him. Besides, he wished he did not have to leave, either. That such a small thing would not bother him. Maybe there was some truth in his saying that he did not feel well.

“So...I will see you.”

“..see you...”

He left the room as fast as his feet could carry him, practically forcing himself not to look back to see whatever disapproval Dorothea may be feeling. The chatter of the more crowded areas slowly faded as he made a b-line to the stairwell and up the stairs to the second floor dorms. Reaching his room, he gently shut the door behind him and sat himself at his desk, feeling his quickened heartbeat inside his head.

He picked up the hand mirror he used when he got himself ready for the morning. He turned to face himself in several angles, running his fingers through his bangs. Catching glimpses of his eyes. The same eyes he had for his entire life. Hiding himself behind his hands and hair, like a _ bashful ingenue _, refusing to look back at them.

He was unsure of whether Dorothea knew of his situation. She must have, as it must have been more obvious in his younger years. She must have forgotten overtime. While that notion was a flattering reflection on his efforts to ‘pass’, as it were, it invited a host of such unwelcome comments as that which spiraled into a quiet self-doubt. A sort of white-hot resentment that built up in the pit of his stomach and sped up his heartbeat when he imagined all the possible ways that other people could eschew their view of him. In the end, it was like all the effort he put into maintaining his appearance was for nothing. Would he have to cut his hair short, forego some of his favorite things, and begin to behave loudly and brashly, not unlike Caspar, to be taken seriously as a man? 

She had called him “pretty”. _ Pretty. _ A word that was the tipping point in a sea of memories. Of having been told that he was just as ‘pretty’ as the songstresses he idolized and there was no point in wasting his time idolizing them. His own parents attempting to convince him that he was too ‘pretty’ to ‘change’, that not ‘changing’ wouldn’t delegitimize his place as an heir. And if he _ were _ to change, he could not attend any more operas. No respectable noble man idolized songstresses.

‘Pretty’ was for other people. Never for him. 

He nearly slammed the hand mirror on his desk, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself on his bed.

He used to think it would be easier if he’d simply “remained” a girl. It would be a miserable existence, but at least no one would ever bother him for simply existing. Maybe Dorothea would be able to take him dress shopping as she so dearly wished to. 

He hated the feeling of having to ‘choose’. Hated feeling as if he had to justify himself. Hated his love of operas and tea parties. His lifelong idolisation of songstresses. His difficulty in explaining why, despite wanting to have children someday, it would be a bit more difficult than it seemed. His maidenly long hair. His-

He laid on his side. Breathed in in three counts. Held for four. Out for four. Three, four, four. Three, four, four.

Wallowing in his own pity would not get him anywhere. He was now what he longed to be. The way he presented himself and spent his time was his choice, and he would have to deal with the consequences of it, unless he wanted to detail his long history with the matter to everyone he met. 

Still, having to bottle everything up was not ideal. Neither was explaining himself to Dorothea, not right now. There had to be someone else to tell him what to do, someone who would understand, who would not judge him, who he would not be afraid of judging him. Maybe someone who did not even know him that well...

He sat up. There was always the advice box. Not a perfect solution, but it was always there when one in the monastery needed help but could not speak of it to anyone else. 

It was quite a trek from his dorm room, but he could make it in no more than fifteen minutes if he walked quickly enough. Though he would have to be careful that Dorothea did not see him and wonder why he was suddenly feeling well enough to go on a walk...well, he would cross that bridge if he came to it. At least he could think of what exactly to ask on his way there.

He decided to take a few minutes to catch his breath, straighten out his outfit, calm down, make himself look like he did not just storm off to his room because a joke made him spiral into a chasm of bad memories, before putting on his shoes and beginning to make his way there. 

A path through the courtyard led him to an entrance from the side of the church. It seemed like he did not have enough time to formulate the question. He could not detail the full matter, as there was not enough space on the slips. He would have to narrow down his troubles to a single matter, but smartly, so he could receive a proper answer. He could not make it too personal, either, lest he was found out. _ If _ someone could find him out.

He was never exactly sure who answered the questions. Maybe it was one of the priests or scholars who were in the service of the Empire? Such a priest currently stood concession next to the box, her mouth slightly agape as she saw him coming over. She probably knew who he was, but it did not matter to him. He had seen Edelgard come to the advice box before as well. Were nobles, emperors, and other people of high status exempt from receiving advice? Regardless, the priest picked up a slip from a pile, wrote a number on the back so he would be able to identify his answer when it came, then handed him the paper and quill. 

Ferdinand leaned the paper on the wall and took a deep breath. 

_ Growing out my hair was not intentional. I was busy with other things in life, so I never thought to get it cut. It hurts that others thought I grew my hair out to be fashionable. _

There. Vague enough to not convey too much identifiable information, but frank enough to welcome fitting advice. He carefully folded the paper and slipped it into the box. He would return later in the day. Until then, he would find something to occupy his thoughts.

\---

_ It looks good on you. _

Ferdinand held the paper with both hands, the starchy texture making an uncomfortable noise as his fingers rubbed on it. He clenched his jaw.

Whoever answered this had no way of knowing who he was. His wording was vague and anyone in the monastery could have been in a similar situation. In fact, Petra, Bernadetta, and Ashe had all grown out their hair. (He was slightly sure that Edelgard had as well, but it was hard to tell, as her hair was usually twisted into buns.) Not to mention that it was not actual advice.

Still, it was addressed to him. He knew it. Maybe by the priest he saw manning the box when he came here earlier? Or someone else who had seen him walk about the monastery? He was never someone who gave too much thought to how exactly people praised him. This…’answer’ did not seem any different than what anyone else had said about his hair before, though, whether the answerer knew who he was or not. At least it did not call him ‘pretty’. 

He left through the front entrance this time. His heart dropped to his stomach, and his stomach to his feet, practically dragging them against the ground. The wind, almost as if it was laughing at him, blew his long hair directly into his face. It was almost time for dinner. He could get vegetable pasta salad, something like that. He did not have the stomach for anything less light.

Was he really expecting for the_ advice box _ to solve all of his problems? It was not something that was easy to explain, let alone the first reason someone would think he would be uncomfortable with the growth of his hair. It would be so much easier if he did not care. Maybe Dorothea _ could _actually take him shopping for dresses. He did not have anything against makeup, but he would have to hide his discomfort at any unwelcome comments relating to other parts of his form. No, it would only make him even more miserable.

As he reached the entrance hall, he caught his own reflection on a light stained glass window. It was faded and hardly visible, but it was him. He could make out his _ full lips, long eyelashes, skinny arms, button nose, maidenly long hair- _

“Ferdie.”

Another blurry figure appeared to his left, peeking behind his shoulder. His heart almost stopped. He turned around.

“D-Dorothea.”

“Are you feeling better?”

He still felt slightly dizzy from his splurge of feelings. It took him a moment to come back down to earth.

“Can I talk to you?” His heart pounded. Not the words he was expecting to come out of his mouth, but the ones he knew had to eventually. “Preferably somewhere more private.”

“I...sure.” The look of concern practically faded from her face. He was right. She knew something was up. 

Despite the butterflies in his stomach, he could not let it phase him. He led her out of the hall, into a separate room, closing the door behind them. They sat across from each other. The weight of his body seemed to shift to and entirely depend on that of the chair. He could not look her in the eye.

“You are aware that I am...well…” How could he phrase this? “...I did not always have this body.”

“You didn’t...what does that-”

“No. I mean…” He clenched his teeth. “Do you remember how I used to insist that I change alone during practice battles?”

She furrowed her brows. “...Yes, I do.”

“Well...do you know why?”

“Honestly? I always thought it was because changing with everyone else was…’unbecoming’ of a noble. Something like that. Lysethia told me that Lorenz used to do the same thing.”

Of course he did. Their slightly different standards aside, he would try another way.

“Well...do you know how I see Manuela for ‘treatment’ once a week?”

“...What are you saying?”

Now came the hard part.

“I was not always a man. I mean, I was. But not always...physically.” He sighed. “I was lucky enough to be born into money, to have understanding people to reach out to. Manuela is helping me facilitate my...transition.”

A silence overcame the room. Dorothea was expressionless. Perhaps in thought.

“I’ve heard of that. I...I didn’t know.” She chuckled. “If you told me, I did not remember. I-”

“It is fine.” he wrapped his fingers around each other, squeezing them. “Earlier, when you made the joke about my hair...and taking me dress shopping...I know you meant well, but it just made me feel, well...it brought back things that it should not have.”

He forced himself to make eye contact with her. Her eyes wide, concerned. While his stomach felt less heavy, he hated himself for making her think she had anything to do with his internal turmoil.

“I’m sorry, Ferdie. I should have been more sensitive.”

“You do not need to apologize. I knew you were in good faith. I should not have let a mere joke affect me as it did.”

“Hey, we can’t all be resilient all the time. I would have felt the same way if someone joked about something...well...something that I am sensitive about. I’m not above prodding you about your _ noble sensibilities _, but for something you can’t control? That’s just unfair.” 

She sighed. He decided to ignore the part about ‘noble sensibilities’. 

“The hair really does suit you, though. And I’m not just saying that.” Her lips curled. “You know, there are quite a few famous male opera singers with longer hair. Abraham Golovich, Viktor Rubin, Oscar Leventon…”

“I know.” He returned her smile. Her effort to raise the spirits of the conversation, despite the weight of what he had just said...suffice to say, he appreciated it. “I have seen Oscar Leventon on stage. He and Manuela were together for a while, right?”

“Yeah! They got married, too...but they got a divorce two and a half hours after the ceremony. One of the more chaotic days in the company, I think. Manuela still won’t tell me what happened.”

The divorce. He knew it happened, but not that much detail regarding it. Perhaps it happened after he forced himself to stop paying attention to the opera...

“I mean, long hair, fancy tea parties, tights and whatnot...they don’t make any of them less, well, men, right? So why should that be the case for you? Not that you should try on dresses.”

He rested his cheek in his hand. She was right. He had always looked up to those singers, Manuela included, with no regard to how that may reflect on him. Not much was different now. He knew he could not make his feelings disappear completely, but he supposed that reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with himself as he is would suffice. That he was...still a man.

“Would you like to accompany me to dinner? I think I need something to eat.”

“I think I do too. It’s been a long day.”

He was Ferdinand von Aegir, and a man, and no one could tell him otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope all the fantasy hormones stuff made sense. if theres anyone else out there who hcs ferdinand as a trans guy please talk to me. comments & crit appreciated :)


End file.
